


Dips and Ridges

by redteekal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Gen Fic, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 01:17:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redteekal/pseuds/redteekal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's taken way too many hits to the head for Dean's liking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dips and Ridges

The night Dean realises that Sam’s hair is actually practical after all these years of having it flopping in front of his stupid face is the night Dean decides Sam’s predisposition to taking all the head hits whenever they had a fight has to change. Why is it the guy with the most fragile melon is the one always getting knocked out cold, beaten over the head or just simply using his head to stop nasty flying objects?

Dean runs his fingers up the back of Sam’s skull, gently feeling for the source of the wound bleeding freely. Locating it by feel is easy enough, especially backed up with a slight hiss from Sam as he sits on the toilet seat under the glare of the one naked bulb that still works in this bathroom. Seeing it through that thick mop of hair is another matter entirely.

It needs stitches, Dean doesn’t even have to see it to know, the blood is flowing a little too easily for just a butterfly tape. He gets Sam to press a fresh wash cloth against it and moves back out to their room to rifle through his duffle.

Sam, more than a little worn from the night’s exertions, is using the wall to prop himself up in his sitting position by the time Dean gets back. His eyes are halfway to closed and Dean figures it is probably a good thing if his little brother is a little out of it right now. Dean is out of luck though, the buzz of the hair clippers rouses Sam pretty quick, an in built automatic reaction brought on by a lifetime of heckling, teasing and taunting from his big brother about what he would do to his hair one night. He shoots Dean a sharp look, eyeing the clippers in his hand.

“It’s gotta be stitched Sammy and there is no way I’m doing that with this mop hanging in the way. Don’t worry I promise not to give you a mohawk.” 

Dean tilts his head and looks at Sam’s hair like he’s actually visualising how a mohawk would look on him. Sam just glares and makes an effort to resist the inevitable.

“It’s not that deep…I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

Dean is not oblivious to the slight shifting of his upper body, his head moving a little further away from the hand with the clippers. Rolling his eyes with a sigh, patience waning, Dean simply steps in and around to his brother’s back.

“It’s just hair Sam. It’ll grow back I promise. Your cro-magnon dome always did grow your hair out freakishly fast.”

Dean places the palm of his left hand on the back of his brother’s skull and gently tilts his head forward and to the side so that the wound area is in the best light. He figures he really doesn’t want Sam feeling any more self conscious than he has to these days - what with his only partially successful Lucifer coping mechanisms - so he decides to shave his scalp from the bottom up around the wound area.

He’s concentrating on clipping as close to the wound as possible and a small area around it so he doesn’t initially notice the irregularities under the skin of his fingertips on his free hand until he goes to shift his hand slightly, to tilt Sam the way he needs. The pads of his fingers brush over his skull through the long strands of hair and Dean feels the way they dip and go over ridges. He finishes the job, pleased to see that he just needs to get Sam to hold his hair back but that the wound is easily visible and clear for stitching now. His hair is long enough that once the wound is cleaned and stitched his hair will mostly fall over the shaved patch. He lets the clippers clatter into the bathroom sink but doesn’t lift his palm from Sam’s head. Sam makes a questioning noise but Dean just goes back to examining his skull.

Using both hands Dean’s fingers deftly part Sam’s hair and he’s a little taken aback by the scarring he sees. There are long lines and crisscrosses of skin the colour of white scar tissue, in fact that’s a dent right there that no human skulls usually carry. And the scars are not just there on the rounded part of his head, Dean finds a stripe at the side of his skull just above his ears and another one lower back in the opposite corner to his current wound.

“Damn how’d you get to always be the one getting hit in the head Sammy? Jesus. Your dome looks like it’s been a canvas for some tortured plastic surgeon. Who failed Cutting 101.”

Sam, more relaxed now that he's assured his brother is not going to test the short back and sides look on him, just shrugs tiredly, mumbles a reply about something to do with being taller than all the other targets and slumps back to the wall, cloth pressed once again to the wound.

Dean gets the whiskey and the stitch up kit and gets to work. 

All of a sudden he’s kind of ridiculously grateful for Sam’s stupid hair. His brother needs all the coverage he can get and luckily his thick mop can hide all those scar lines where the hair follicles don’t seem to want to grow anymore. Dean imagines that he’d look like a tortured Chernobyl victim if that was his head carrying all those scars, given his usual choice of hair style, which he’d always insisted beat Sam’s stupid floppy hair hands down in terms of looks and what the chicks dig. Of course this only serves to neon light his guilt once more about not being there to save Sam from ever having to wear those scars in the first place so he makes a vow to himself, sealed with a swig of whiskey, he’s never gonna mention Sam’s (now decidedly unstupid) floppy hair again. His conviction is so emphatic he’ll even make sure he gets that fancy girly smelling Salon Professional shampoo Sam seems to like so much next time they do a supply run. He puts the bottle down and helps Sam get into bed. He looks at his brother, sprawled on his stomach already out like a light and decides he’s all for keeping those long floppy strands as shiny and healthy as possible from now on in. He’s just not telling Sam about it.


End file.
